


Seven

by conchepcion



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Professors, Dubious Consent, F/M, Kinks, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Professors, School Uniforms, Shameless Smut, Smut, Stripping, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-10 12:39:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/conchepcion/pseuds/conchepcion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven Smutty Sherlolly-shorts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Relief

**Author's Note:**

> This is not a multi-chaptered fic. Let me explain - now have you ever just had some smut laying around? I've got several in various documents, with no point or plot to be had, which I can't really find any place to put. So, I decided to make this. At the moment there are seven, hence the title, and all of them are wholly unconnected each other. Some might not even be very long, or terribly smutty, but at least you'll get something out of this. I hope.
> 
> So, instead of making separate one-shots until my fingers drop off I shall put them here. I hope that doesn't displease anyone. Anyway, the rest of the other "titles" will crop up soon.

_Bastard_ , that’s what she’d call him privately during the late hours at Bart’s. He was a man who kept verbally disciplining her every time she didn’t follow through with one of his idiotic demands. A grown man should be able to brew his own cup of coffee, and he might come with excuses of being too busy and important, but she herself had too much on her own plate work-wise to take care of his needs, when he wasn’t working on anything life-threateningly important.

It couldn’t have been that dramatic to have her say “no” for once, but by his stricken face it definitively was. Apparently it was almost like a cardinal sin in his book for her to argue against his wants, not even dropping her “no”, when he started to go all, “Your hair looks better down, it suits you better that way, you know,” (a line he used a bit too often at times).

It was always about him, about his needs, about his tiny projects, in what she considered was her own working-space, which he cluttered up because he was otherwise bored. She was just too tired to accept his presence without arguing, to allow him to step on her, as if she was an object to utilize. She wanted to be respected, especially by a man she admired a great deal, more than admired if he wasn’t throwing tantrums like he did today.

The door to her office slammed shut, as she sprang inside with flushed cheeks – anger vibrating throughout her body, while she attempted to take deep breaths. He had such cruel tactics, when she didn’t do as he pleased. He’d do his best to insult her, and this time was no exception. It was a wonder she hadn’t demanded security dragging him out of the building.

Regularly she’d cope quite gracefully with him being a git, but recently he seemed to be in some sort of constant pressure. John often warned her with a text if he was being extra difficult a period, but some times she’d mentally conclude that he was having his own monthly terror, like herself, as it seemed a good way of excusing him from his actions.

Why couldn’t he be home instead?

Well, she was sure it wasn’t helpful that Mary and John were more or less at it constantly. She’d never find rest herself, with that kind of thing going on above, but as she sipped her tea trying to still her nerves she did wonder – _just a bit_ – if he just needed some proper relief. After all the man had quit drugs, then had to quit cigarettes too, and had to relinquish every single little pleasure he had, which was good since none of those things were healthy things exactly.

What kind of relief, exactly? She didn’t exactly see giving him an extra project as anything except more to brood upon. He didn’t need to think, he needed to think less, and how was she going to help him do that? The man never relaxed, his mind constantly working, and always needing some new interest in his perimeter not to go crazed shooting holes in the wall. He was a fully-grown man, and maybe possibly all of this anger was supressed frustration over – --- the minute the idea crossed her mind she spat out her tea. 

At first she tried to avoid it, maybe she was just trying to please herself, than she was actually pleasing him? She concluded that she was mental even breaching the topic with herself, that he’d never allow her to do such a thing anyway, and it was entirely ridiculous of her to think he would. He might be a grown man, but he was not like any other man. Instead when he popped up she tried being extra nice, attending to him immediately with a cup of coffee, but he only ending up snapping, “Molly, is there something you want?” That caused her to blush, since technically her mind had wandered there, but she just said, “No, of course not, why would I – need anything – from you?” and she’d wandered off.

He seemed fine to begin with really, except it only got worse, as he fully expected her to do it every single time. It aggravated her that he assumed she would be nice, when he kept on going from overly agreeable to flatly insulting in mere seconds. It was record-breaking how his behaviour could go from charming to massive consulting bastard. She almost hoped an interesting death would take place, just in the sheer hope that he’d stop being such a git, but instead it seemed that London had taken a turn of the calm. Causing him to be even more infuriating in her presence, with his non-verbal conversations and constantly calling her “John”.

One night she’d hit her limit, wishing he would just go home, as she was knackered wanting only to go to bed, when he demanded she drop everything at the bat of a hat.

“I’m tired, Sherlock,” she said stifling a yawn.

“I need a body.”

“I haven’t got time for this,” she said, “I’ve got to get home.”

“Please,” he said putting on a pair of puppy-eyes, which would regularly fool her, but they only aggravated her now into snapping, “Fine – ok – you need – a body – I’ll give you a body.”

He furrowed his brows in surprise, as she picked up her paperwork jerking her head out into the hallway, while he followed her curiously, but with gleeful enjoyment at his power over her.

Though the walk wasn’t very long, as she stopped outside of a cupboard filled with cleaning supplies pointing at the door, “Get in there.”

“Sorry?” he said after a minute of staring at her.

“In – there - now - Sherlock,” she said with gritted teeth.

He raised a brow, taking to open the door, “Why on earth would there be a body in the supply closet?” he said obviously confused. She however pushed him with all force she owned inside, making him growl in surprise, as she shoved him against the wall pulling his mouth into a fierce kiss – locking the door behind her.

Sherlock stiffened entirely, but he didn’t shove her off, as her mouth tasted his, his tongue tentatively tasting hers in return. She broke away for a second, “You haven’t done this before?” she said gaping at him half-embarrassed.

He stared at her licking his lips, as he said, “No.”

She blinked, “Do you want to?”

He seemed to be thinking, much too long for her taste, and she forgoes all pleasantries by bending down on her knees, unceremoniously opening his trousers, and taking him into her mouth, so he wouldn’t have to think anymore.

He groaned in absolute shock, as her lips wrapped themselves around his cock that pulsated in her warm mouth. She pulled back, looking up at him, but he did not prevent her from continuing at all, so she brought him back, a moan uttered from the back of his throat.

She licked his length, teasing him with her mouth, causing him to groan loudly, as one hand reached for her hair attentively, unsure where else to rest it. It was certainly something, seeing him lose himself entirely, his eyes flickering between open and shut, as hers were fixed upon his face. She drew him closer into her mouth, her nails digging into what felt like a delightfully well-sculptured arse, as she always imagined it was, when seeing him walking away. He only moaned louder, trembling against her, trying to avoid pushing himself into her mouth, as he breathed deeply trying to quiet down.

However, despite his fervent attempts he lost himself entirely into her mouth, thrusting into her, as she drank every drop of him in. A look of pure relief was on his flushed face, as she swallowed, taking to stand up from her slight wobbly knees.

She gave a nod, “So – I’m going - home now,” she said with a quick smile, awkwardly understanding what she’d done, and the consequences of that action at the completely puzzled expression on his face, “Ok – so – right – bye!” she said with a tiny wave, mentally groaning at her stupidity, as she sprinted out of the room flinging the door shut behind her.

Fortunately for her later that very same evening - her embarrassment ceased to exist the minute she heard a knock on her door – only to find him at her doorstep with a hungry look in his eyes, as his gaze swept over her pyjamas-clad body. 

In the end she never had an issue with him disciplining her. 


	2. Night

It was always in the dark; while she was tossing and turning in her flower-patterned sheets, sleep nowhere close to her mind. Her body was made aware that he was out there pacing. That he was out there breathing, and that he was by all means still in her life.

The closest he’d ever been to her - his eyes sweeping around her flat, taking in every detail from her old medical books to her half-empty carton of milk. He was out there breathing and she was in there trying to drift off. It was never easy, as her senses were alive, humming at the pure knowledge of his existence beyond her bedroom door.

Then her bedroom door would creak slowly open, light flooding on her face, as she’d lift up her head from her pillow, and he wouldn’t speak. He would stand in the doorway for minutes, still as a statue, as if taking every detail of her in.

Breathing would become tricky, and she would be aware of her barely covered skin, but she would not wrench the duvet off herself. Instead she would wait, patiently, trying to breathe, as the door would slowly close, but he would not be on the other side of it. He would be in the dark bedroom with her, taking the same air into his lungs, and she would swallow slowly.

“Sherlock?” she’d finally manage to whisper uncertainly into the dark, and suddenly her hand would wind up tangled into his. She’d marvel over the feel of his slender fingers on hers, the way she’d feel his breath upon the top of her hand – a small soft kiss on her knuckles, as his weight was suddenly on the bed.

He would lie down besides her, pulling her close, so her back was to him, his hand still clenched around hers, as he’d breathe down her neck.

His mouth hovering on the back of her neck, tracing small kisses causing her to smile, half-laughing in the darkness, she once was scared of. The silence would not be overwhelming with his presence in her bed, instead it was like everything was hit on pause, and she waited for everything to go back to the ordinary. To the point she would awake, and he would be gone. 

His hand grazed the peak of her nipple through the fabric of her short silk nightgown, and she’d sigh, emitting her first sound, as he’d murmur in her ear, “Face me.”

She’d bite her lip, slowly turning around facing his overly familiar features in the dark, as he was still donning his black shirt and trousers. The heat emanating from him, as his eyes flit over her in the dark, his hands cradling her face, fingertips grazing her soft cheeks, as he drags her towards him – his mouth tasting hers, a slow peck, a slow taste – tongue licking her mouth, as she’d soon open hers to him. The taste of his mouth is so familiar to her, as their tongues clash urgently together.

His hand drops from her face to cradle her silk-covered bottom, a soft touch turns to a hard squeeze, as his mouth starts to ravage hers, other hand on the back of her head pulling her towards him, his need pressing against her, as his mouth tears away from her mouth grazing her neck instead.

His hands sliding underneath her nightgown, until the dress glides off her, her body naked underneath his covered one, and her small hands tinker with his many buttons, slowly opening them up, so she can feel his skin pressed against hers too.  

He huffs impatiently at her actions, instead he spreads her slender legs – his mouth kissing downwards from her mouth, to her navel, reaching her hipbone, until his tongue darts into her sweet warmth. She gasps, fingers clasping his dark curls, as she tries to strangle down her moans, while he swirls his tongue inside her, and her eyes are slammed shut of pure pleasure.

Her legs wrapping themselves tightly around him, as he increases pressure, a finger slipping inside her, besides his expert tongue. Her fingers vanish from his hair, as they clench themselves firmly into the sheets, nails digging hard into the fabric, as she lets out the hidden moans. He almost laughs, his deep chuckle vibrating on her, as he sucks and licks her to see stars.

“Molly?” a voice says through the dark, and her eyes blink open, as the light hits her face. He’s standing in the doorway, as always, attentive to her every sound.

“Sherlock?” she yelps yanking her head upwards from her pillow.

“Is anything – the - matter?” he says rather slowly, _too_ pointedly.

She’s probably been moaning loudly again.

“No – no – nothing’s wrong,” she stutters flushing underneath his gaze.

“Good,” he says, “Good night, Molly - do try to get some sleep,” and the door is slowly shut, and he’s definitively on the other side of it. Her head drops with a thud back onto her pillow in red-hot shame, while he on the other side of it is smirking.

 

 


	3. Rain

He wouldn’t allow himself to contemplate that her sole presence had affected him for the weeks they’d been alone; though the minute she’d fallen into the lake trying to grab after the half-torn book, he knew he couldn’t stand idly by. Not when she shrieked like that, but when he flung himself into the water – her only reaction was to laugh whole-heartedly at him, as she was obviously floating fine on her own.

They both swam back to land, and she still held the book while absolutely drenched to her skin. Her flowery dress now see-through clinging to her very skin, as she just drew a deep breath, trying not to laugh anymore. She looked at him oddly, taking in his wet appearance, his hair smoothed back by his hand, as his clothing too hugged to him. He stared back at her feeling overwhelmed, his breath coming up short, as he tried to understand.

He tried to wrap his mind around the concept of how her less than covert glances above her books could have ensnared him, how her cool palm against his heated forehead had brought him back to sleep during fretful nightmares, how she made breakfast despite him being adamant it didn’t need to be done, or the fact that she’d coped fantastically without him speaking to her every waking moment. She had told him many things about her life, requiring nothing in return, all with no pauses, with no fear, and laughed of herself in a way he didn’t knew she could.

He didn’t know how to put how he felt in words - when the rain he’d warned her about came pouring down, drenching them even more than possible, as she broke out in another bout of laughter – he joined her this turn with his own deep laugh. There was almost no point in running, but he grabbed her hand recklessly allowing himself to touch her willingly. They started to run back to the cabin for warmth, his face serious, as hers was full of laughter.

It was cold, the wind making the rain bite their skin, as they practically skidded on the wet grass, until they finally got inside, slamming the door shut, and he found himself able to say something, “Fire,” he practically growled, hurriedly trying to clear his throat. 

His hands were on his hips, and all of a sudden he felt mildly awkward in her presence. What once was amusing, fell away, as she too said, “Fire,” licking her lips, tasting in the salt and the rain.

There they stood right in front of each other, eyeing the un-lit fireplace with their chests heaving, but no one moved to do any action. He finally took a deep breath intending to move, his eyes flickering away from her for just a second, but before he’d gotten away she grabbed him by his white shirt pulling his lips down upon hers for a soft kiss.

A part of him was surprised, of the feeling of her delicate mouth on his; how her hands caressed his moist slack curls, touching the back of his neck, and how his hands naturally came around her waist grabbing her closer to him.

Even more so, as her legs wrapped themselves around his waist, and he just continued nipping at her delightfully tasting mouth, his hands firmly pressed against her backside keeping her up, pressing her against the wall, while her arms were thrown around his back.

All the scenarios of their journey immediately flashing through his head – from her reluctantly accepting his invitation to hide away – how natural it felt taking her hand that very moment, as they walked along the path meeting the man who kept the cabin. How her hand fit snugly into his, small and delicate, as she too fit him now, her every curve an extension of himself, every taste an addition to his own senses.

She broke away from his lips – staring at him with her mouth half-open, soon digging her teeth into her lower lip, as he felt the weight of her.

This was happening, it was not in his mind, and not in hers.

“I – I,” she started, her stutter once again appearing, while his forehead leant against hers, and she didn’t continue whatever she attempted.

She looked dreadfully uncertain, as he gave her a chaste lingering kiss, and she visibly swallowed, “I want - you,” he murmured, and her brown eyes widened.

He expected many things out of that confession, out of having spoken the words that were packed in the lighter corners of his mind, and embedded in his very core – he fully expected her to run away, to escape from him, as he could never fully give her what she wanted, “I want you,” he repeated in a stronger voice, his eyes shutting momentarily, trying to avoid her open stare, until they opened up to find her wide smile.  

A smile that did not fade when she recaptured his mouth, as he soon carried her away from the wall, stumbling down to floor in front of the fireplace – he hastened to pull the sheep-skin cover from the cream-white sofa, settling it underneath her, as he continued to kiss the corners of her laughing mouth pulling her even more close to his all-too drenched exterior.

Neither cared that the fireplace wasn’t in fact in fire, as they disentangled themselves out of their drenched clothing, aiding each other. He eased her out of the dress that clung to her to his amused eyes – assisting her with her undergarments too, tearing off her bra with his mouth, as she tried jokingly slapping his hands away.

His mouth grazing her inner thigh, as he with his teeth drew her knickers off, and he stared at her hungrily. She kept a palm against his covered chest, narrowing her eyes at him, as she soon started opening the buttons of his shirt with such care and slowness that made him lightly smack her nimble fingers away, as she laughed when he merrily ripped open the shirt. Soon dragging off his trousers with such ferocity, as to make her bite back her laughter with great smugness, until he too was utterly naked. Their eyes hovered over each others bodies, a moment of complete silence filling the room, as no one made a move.

“It’s a bit – nippy, don’t you think?” she said all of a sudden, settling herself on top of his lap, causing him to draw his breath, as his hands felt her naked skin on top of him. His hands skimming carefully down her back, smirking, as Molly bit her lip looking at him attentively. She touched his face with her cool hands slowly, every chill dissipating, as the heat of both their bodies increased by the proximity.

“You’ve been wanting to do this,” he said trying to disguise his pleasure in her staring, “Haven’t you?” 

She put on a mock serious expression, “No,” she said wrapping her legs around him, as he held her more steadily – and she brought him inside her effortlessly causing him to groan in surprise. He held her close to him, trying to be slow, but she was decidedly rushing him by her breathy moans, her eyes shut in pleasure, as she pushed further down upon him causing him to fall back onto the sheepskin. Roughly he found himself thrusting up against her, as she pressed down with wild abandon. Her hands sliding up and down his chest, his hand taking one hand, and giving it a kiss to distract himself from letting go too soon. It did not work, for soon he threw her on her back, thrusting into her, while her legs wrapped themselves around his back, drawing him in closer.

He pulled out all of a sudden, trying to avoid groaning in sheer agony of doing so, staring at her intently with his intense eyes, as he said teasingly, “Haven’t you?”

Instead of answering she took his hard cock in her hand, firmly stroking him into submission, as he found himself breathing out, “Molly,” in a reprimanding voice, and she promptly whispered into his ear, “Yes,” causing him to push into her once more, their moans louder. He felt her tightening around him, his member pulsating inside of her, as she started to tremble crying out his name, and he followed suit.

She smiled repeatedly that night, teasing him, and making him utterly admit defeat to her presence. 


	4. Talk

"Have you got yourself a bloke, then?" asked her mother, as Molly felt like putting her face in her hands out of pure irritation. Why did their conversations always lead to this? There was nothing wrong with being alone, really, and she might not exactly be alone, but there was nothing wrong if she were. Instead of going on a long defensive talk about how it was nothing wrong with being single, she kept her mouth shut, just hoping they'd get to the end of the topic.

"That's a no, then?" her mother asked.

Molly frowned, pacing in her own flat, trying to keep herself in movement, so she wouldn't be terribly annoyed, "Well – it's not – not really," she said, and she could hear her mother be confused at the other end of the line. She herself was confused, with all logical reason to be so, but that was a different story for another time. It wasn't like she could actually say the words that she'd wanted to for months, since that would certainly add more questions, in that case being single was beneficial.

As she continued to wander, tinkering with some items on her coffee table, she heard the door to her flat be unlocked. Right on schedule she supposed, trying not to grin, but she failed entirely.

Sherlock stepped inside arching a brow at her, "What do you mean not really?" continued her mother, after some seconds of bemused silence.

"I haven't got a bloke, no," said Molly, while Sherlock shut the door, as softly as he could behind him. He gave her a sardonic smile, furrowing his brows at her, as she pressed a finger to her lips hinting to him to keep silent. He dropped down on a bended knee untying his shoes swiftly, until he set the pair aside on by her coat rack. He suddenly did the same to his socks, which made her stop up in her walk.

"Oh, right, then – well I heard Louise is getting married," said her mum, as if that statement would lead to her getting married in a heartbeat.

"Is she now?" said Molly trying to sound excited, while she met Sherlock's eyes. He smirked, while he slowly started to slip off his dark leather gloves. She blinked at that, trying to focus on what her mother was saying, "Yes, she's marrying a man called Marcus – a nice young man really."

"That's nice," said Molly nodding into the phone, as one glove dropped to the floor, before the other was attended to, following its partner on the floor.

"They're getting married in June."

"Why exactly are you telling me this, mum?" she said, hand on her hip, as Sherlock slowly removed his scarf, tossing it aside, and doing the same to his coat – letting it drop to the floor.

She stared, colouring at the sight of him, trying with all her might to focus on the conversation. He was certainly trying to distract her.

"I'd just like to see you settled."

"I'm fine – mum," she said, as Sherlock with a knowing gaze started to slowly unbutton his purple shirt. She bit her lip furiously at that, while his nimble fingers deftly opened each button, first at the wrists, then at the front, before the shirt too was on the floor, and he was slowly opening the buttons of his dark trousers.

"It's not good being alone in your age."

"I – I suppose not," said Molly swallowing, as Sherlock slid out his trousers – fully explaining why the man never seemed to have any pants-line; there were none.

"Right, I know it must be difficult finding a man, but you will you know," said her mum, as Molly gawked at the naked man before her, who then proceeded to confidently stride off to her bedroom with the door open – letting her get a full-view of his arse.

"Mum, I've got to go," she said quickly.

"What? Why?"

"I found one," she said hanging up on her mum.


	5. Professor

She was not the only in class who became entranced, when he would recite poetry by heart, the words spinning out of his mouth like the bard himself, making her own cheeks flush at the sight of him, as his blue eyes would smugly dance over the room, like he knew the effect his voice had on most of his female pupils.

Molly was certain that Professor Holmes had to be aware of it, though she tried to conceal her own flustered behaviour by letting her eyes dart to her notes instead, trying to find the symbolism in the lines, which was after all what he'd been asking for to begin with.

Somehow, amidst her flurry of note-taking, she noticed the sudden stillness of the room made abruptly aware of her being alone, "Miss Hooper," his voice called out.

She looked up from her notes surprised to find that the rest of the class had walked out, while she was still trying to take her notes, "Oh – sorry – sir."

"It's fine, Miss Hooper – it's good to know someone is paying attention," he drawled while he packed his briefcase, letting it click, "Though, you might want to hurry home now."

She snapped her notebook shut, hurriedly shoving her books and papers into her rug-sack, only briefly aware of the fact that he was staring at her, "Sir?" she questioned catching his eyes on her.

He only smirked, "Good afternoon, Miss Hooper – do try not to be late."

* * *

Like clockwork she sped out, her feet walking hurriedly amidst the flurry of rain, feeling herself getting soaked in her uniform. The familiar blue car took to halt on the street besides her, she swiftly got in, taking a look around, "Hello – sir," she said biting her lip, as she sat in the car besides him.

"Don't call me sir, Molly," he said his eyes lingering briefly on her see-through blouse.

"I shan't, _sir_ ," she said defiantly grinning, feeling his hand skid up underneath her skirt, as they drove off to his place as usual.

His hands slithered underneath her blouse; briefcase and the keys of his flat forgotten by the door that was wide open, which he hurriedly kicked shut as they were stood in just the hallway. She laughed at that, a laugh that was smothered away with a kiss.

Her professor was far to clever for his own right, knowing always just the spots that would subdue her wandering hands, as he pinched open her bra with one hand, slipping soon another over a breast playfully tugging at her stiff nipple.

Every time her hands would try to grab the front of his dark trousers he would slap them away, pressing her back against the walls of his hallway, keeping her hands behind her back, making it impossible for her to touch him – it was the usual game – the one they always played, her thoughts dissolving, as he rode her skirt above her hips grinding against her, though not removing an inch of fabric, endlessly toying with her by caressing her through her uniform.

Molly writhed against him, crying out, "Please."

She could feel him smirking while kissing at her neck, soon murmuring into her, "Please – what – miss Hooper?"

He had stilled his movement, his blue eyes narrowing down upon her, as she looked up at him through fluttering eyelids, "Please,  _sir_ ," she whispered.

His eyes glinted, as he quickly turned her around – making her lean her hands against the wall, while his hand drew her skirt over her waist, and his hand slowly glided over the fabric over her knickers, "Now – Miss Hooper – my name is not  _sir_ ," he said, as his fingertips slid against the fabric making her whimper, wishing he would do more than just tease her, "What - is – my - name?" he said sounding stern, though he was smiling at the view of her spreading out her legs, trying to get more friction by pushing up against his trousers.

"She-," the minute she started he pushed the knickers aside, and slipped a finger into her wet cunt making her gasp, before he withdrew.

He tutted – "Try again."

"Sher-," he slid two more fingers in her, feeling her tighten around his finger desperately, though once more he pulled back. For every time she at all tried saying his name he would do the torturous affair again, and again – making her a moaning wreck, almost unable to hold herself up, as her legs trembled under the pressure.

* * *

"Spread your legs and lift up your skirt," he said sat in the chair across from her, as she licked her lips impatient. He was apparently  _punishing_  her for not saying his name, but she wanted him to fuck her into the mattress of his bed screaming. Of course he would, though her knickers were soaked at this point, and she knew he would play with her as much as he could stand.

Professor Holmes was not the innocent man he portrayed himself in class, for here he was with a glass of whiskey in one hand taking a languid sip, before he pointedly said, "Miss Hooper, are you listening?"

She bit her lips, soon spreading her legs, keeping each leg on the arms of the chair she sat on, promptly folding up her skirt, as she said, "Yes, sir."

His blue eyes narrowed at that, " _Well_  – Miss Hooper? You know what to do," he said with a tilt of his head, the glass lifted up to his smiling lips.

Molly braced herself, feeling her legs cramp slightly from the position, as she started to pull at the fabric of her knickers, rubbing them over her swollen lips, automatically jerking onto her fingers, causing her to twitch and moan by the minimal friction.

Her hair was out of its regular ponytail fanning down upon her shoulders, as she strained to not insert her fingertips into her heat, for he saw the moisture seeping from the fabric of her knickers, and the pained expression on her face. He could feel his cock strain underneath the fabric of his trousers, wanting to be let out – wanting to fuck her until all restraint was washed away.

She started to slip her fingers in her cunt giving in, though the second she did she felt his firm grip on her wrist, abruptly stopping her, causing them to lock eyes.

Molly stared up at him with an innocent-expression, "Professor…" she said causing him to snort over her pretending, for her smile was much too pleased than anything.

He slipped her knickers off from her while she sat, soon spreading her legs again, as his head dipped between her thighs taking in the moisture with his tongue that swirled around her cunt. Her legs clenched around him, her moans turning into whimpers, while he grabbed her closer to his mouth – sucking and licking at her – until she started to unabashedly call out his name, her light voice growing hoarse, as her nails dug into his hair.

He withdrew from her pleased with moisture on his face, and she didn't hesitate to kiss him at that, wanting him all over her.

It didn't take very long until he had practically thrown her on the bed, quickly discarding her of her clothes, while she laughed at his sudden lack of patience. He was still clothed however, standing at the end of the four-poster bed, while she was on her knees on the sheets pouting at his clothes. She bit her lip positioning herself in front of him, as she slowly unzipped his trousers, "Fuck me, sir," she said lying down on her back.

He didn't need for her to ask twice, quickly slipping his hard cock out of his trousers, as he pushed into her slick tight warmth. Molly screamed, while he thrust into her hard, her legs wrapping them around his back automatically, as her hands felt the fabric of his clothing that would be drenched in her smell, in her wetness and sweat the very next day – while he lectured the class.

She came screaming his name, her body clenching and unclenching around him.

He was naked in the end of course, after she'd straddled him – binding his hands to the bed pulling at his hair every time his mouth would come dangerously close to lick any part of her body. Her dear professor had sensitive follicles, it made her giggle really, as he would become eerily obedient, but she adored the calm after the storm; were they lied calmly on the sheets of his bed duvet curled into a ball at the end.

He would always have a cigarette after that, the smoke unfurling around them dissolving into the air, the cigarette perched in his hand, "Sherlock?" she said.

He hummed at that, his chest vibrating underneath her, as she looked up from laying her head on his chest, "We  _couldn't_  do this at school I suppose?"

"No," he said not looking at her as he answered, though she could see the twinkle in his eyes, "It's against the rules, Molly, as you are well aware."

"Fine," she said pretending to be annoyed soon taking his soft cock into her hand, causing him to fling his cigarette into his ashtray, before he made her shriek his name again.

* * *

She walked down the empty hallway bearing the case to her flute, after having just finished her last class of the day playing with the school-band; her uniform not a tad bit ruffled – she was dragged by a strong hand into an empty classroom. His low voice murmuring into her ear, "Did you know I play the violin?"

"No,  _sir_ ," she said a smile playing at her lips.

He did play on her body that afternoon, supressing her screams with the palm of his hand, as she wanted everyone to hear her pleasurable cries for her Professor Holmes.


	6. Professor Pt2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In my brain - this happens in the sixties.

When Professor Holmes appeared every single girl was aware of it, taking to stare it him, as he strode along the hallways without a chip on his shoulder, his blue eyes narrowing at the lot of them, until they looked away. No one knew much about him, except that he was clever. Molly Hooper hadn't really made much of an opinion of him, except that he seemed rather clever, and she couldn't deny he was  _fit_. It was a rather glaring fact after all, the way he'd stride around the classroom declaring his frustration with them, and sometimes even calling them idiots. That last bit didn't make her particularly keen on him, none at all, and she found herself soon up on her feet speaking against him. Nobody else had done it, forced him to apologise, and she was surprised that he took it to heart softening over time. Unlike the other professors he didn't seem to socialise, keeping mostly to himself, making her wonder if he was by all chance lonely, though she never thought of any of the other professors personal lives - _his_ intrigued her. He never gave a word about himself away in class, often disregarding questions about the matter, but she was indeed surprised how she actually did come to know him in fact.

Every Wednesday she visited her grandmother, since she wasn't particularly healthy, and Molly felt like helping her out after school. This was how she was surprised to find her Professor, or well not  _her_  Professor taking the tube with her. At first he'd give a brief distracted nod of the head, while she only smiled briefly.

It wasn't usual of students to socialise with their Professors, and she didn't exactly expect to find any topic to share with him either. She did see that he would often carry a book, quite morbid too which intrigued her a great deal. After some weeks she found him handing her one during one ride, while he was on the way out putting it into her hands, before she could cry a word in protest.

She read it out in one night, fascinated by all the details, and shocked that her Professor had shared such a thing with her, only to drop it off at his desk the next, and he didn't even look up at her. It happened four other times too, with her eating up every word, until the books turned filthier by the second, making her gasp as she read on, not managing to keep her eyes off any of it – her imagination being fuelled.

Why was he giving her such books anyway?

There several speculations at the school about his character, about how he turned down every single advance paid to him, and she half-way suspected them to be true, as he spent the great reminder of his time with the new Professor called Watson, the pair of them laughing over things she had no clue about.

Another Wednesday, though the tube was filled to the brim with people so she was pressed into a corner, she was startled to find a tentative hand on her shoulder, soon followed by a murmur into her ear, "Miss Hooper."

She turned in surprise to see Professor Holmes holding out a book to her, while pressed against her back, "Oh, thank you Professor," she said with a tiny giggle, trying to disguise her surprise, though he didn't seem to pay no mind to that – while the tube jostled – and he was pressed more tightly into her back.

He leant a hand against the wall in front of her, "I apologise."

"It's fine, sir," she said stuffing the book in her bag, as her face flushed at the proximity, at the smell and feel of him so very close to her. He went off at the next station leaving her to a flurry of silly thoughts that she dismissed, until she actually got to a paragraph in the book that told of two characters in a train causing her eyes to grow into saucers.

Her stomach turned into knots around him at school, making her uncertain to raise her hand as usual, or even meet his eye, for when she did his gaze did not hesitate to linger at her.

She supposed that if anyone knew of their book sharing they'd question the morality of it, for she certainly did, yet she was intrigued. So, when the next Wednesday came, and the tube was once more unreasonably well stocked with people he was yet again behind her, "Miss Hooper," he said with a low voice against her ear.

"Sir," she only replied, her eyes meeting his briefly in the glass, though he did not give her a book this time. She swallowed uncertainly, as the tube bumped triggering him to press against her like last, though instead of being scared away she leant into his chest.

"What  _have_  you been reading, Miss Hooper?" he whispered tentatively, while his hand slid against the back of her skirt.

She took an intake of breath, her eyes turning to the unsuspecting passengers who were busy with their books and papers – no one paying them any mind really, as his hand slipped underneath her skirt causing her to bite her lip. She felt his fingertips gracing the inside of her thighs, until they were on the fabric of her knickers – softly – slowly – teasingly – the fabric getting moist at his touch, "Indeed," he said, and she could hear the smirk in his voice at that.

* * *

She was stifling her mouth as best she could while his fingers stroked at the drenched fabric of her knickers. Molly tried not to let a whimper slip out as another hand caressed her breast through her shirt, making her clamp her mouth hurriedly shut, when he decisively rubbed so her nipples were attentive through her bra. It was in the afternoon, people were around, yet no one seemed to at all turn into their direction, as a gasp was emitted when his fingers slid past the fabric and into her moistened cunt. His other arm circled her waist to keep her from tumbling on her feet, while she closed her eyes.

She tried to forget, tried to think they were alone, only wondering if someone's eyes would pay heed to them, any second, any minute, as he pushed his fingers gently in toying with her flesh.

Abruptly it stopped, "This is your stop, Miss Hooper," he said pulling away from her, causing her to look at him in surprise. She got off at the stop staring at him bemused through the windows of the tube, while his fingers were in his mouth, and he looked at her thoughtfully, until the tube drove off.

* * *

The next time she got a book from him there was a note tucked inside with the following written –  _A Ebb Strengthener It Kowtow Toot_ _._ She realised it was an anagram, he'd make them often in class for their amusement, and she figured it out quite quickly - it was an address.

She knew in the end it was his, and she'd excused herself from her grandmother earlier than usual telling of her horrible Professor and the workload he'd given her. Molly didn't feel particularly brave when she got to 221 B Baker Street, the door opening at her touch, and his voice calling out from upstairs, "Come up, Miss Hooper."

She walked tentatively up the steps, her rucksack on her back, which she took off when she saw him sitting lazily in a chair with a book perched in his hands, "Take a seat," he said. When she'd taken a seat opposite him he tutted, "Not there, Miss Hooper," and he held the book aside in one hand gesturing to his lap, "I intend to read to you."

She bit her lip hesitating for a second, until she was sat in his lap straight as an arrow feeling uncomfortable, but he grabbed her by the waist causing her to relax against him, her head resting against his shoulder, as he said calmly, "This is Lady Chatterley – shall I?"

Molly nodded against his neck, while his deep baritone voice started to read from where he was.

_She lay quite still, in a sort of sleep, in a sort of dream. Then she quivered as she felt his hand groping softly, yet with queer thwarted clumsiness, among her clothing. Yet the hand knew, too, how to unclothe her where it wanted._

She could feel his voice vibrate from where she was positioned, felt his hand start at her knee until it started to slide underneath her skirt skidding between her thighs. Molly hitched a breath, trying to breathe normally knowing that they were entirely alone for once.

_He drew down the thin silk sheath, slowly, carefully, right down and over her feet._

He was upon her knickers once more taking his time, leisurely moving his hand, as her breath grew ragged. His voice slow and precise, there was no hint of nervousness in it while he read to her.

_Then with a quiver of exquisite pleasure he touched the warm soft body, and touched her navel for a moment in a kiss._

She felt his erection press up against her through his trousers, her eyes widening slightly, as he kept on dragging his fingers along the fabric that was slowly being soaked.

_And he had to come in to her at once, to enter the peace on earth of her soft, quiescent body._

Her face was heating up due to his words, to his touch, and he recited the last words by heart it seemed, his blue eyes turning to her face, "It was the moment of pure peace for him, the entry into the body of the woman," he said his eyes on her pale half-open mouth. He captured her lips in a soft kiss that deepened, causing her to quiver, as he bit upon her lower lip. She felt his erection underneath her, pressing up against her, as he whispered, his eyes twinkling, "Shall we begin?"


	7. Professor Pt3

He was certain he would be saddled with an abnormal amount of dunderheads, all of them spewing out unoriginal thoughts that came from their texts-books, ensuring them passable marks that he barely felt induced to give in his grievance over the boredom of it all. Sherlock Holmes enjoyed speaking, lecturing them, regaling them his knowledge in the few fields he saw fit knowing, of course he did go into long stretches of insulting speeches, though it was surprising he had kept so long without those. The atmosphere had a tendency to be stifling, whether he was feared, loathed – he cared not, though the passing fluttering of the eyelashes made him feel even more displeased.

All except one, one lone quiet girl who took in every word, her notebooks filled to the brim with notes taken during his classes. The only one who had essays that did not bore him to shreds. He saw potential, he saw interest, and he saw above all things - innocence. Molly Hooper was spoken of quite often in the break-room, amidst the cigarette cloud hovering above them, "Poor girl," they'd say, though he never saw that.

He understood that she was living with her sickly father, her mother long past, but he did not see how it was  _poor girl._  Unlike the rest of them with cotton between their ears she seemed intent to learn, to learn the rules and then throw them aside.

She was…interesting.

He tried to ignore her to begin with; her quiet strength, the way she kept away from the large giggling girls who would question him often and rudely with intent of knowing his interests. She however sat alone, always with her work, only sometimes showing half-interest to the tedious conversations around her, but otherwise she remained quiet. It was one class where he was perhaps too passionate in his speech, too strong in his words against one of the idiots, when she'd taken to stand up, "You – you don't need to be so cruel,  _sir_!"

Even in her anger, with her red flaming cheeks she would still be polite. He was taken aback, apologising at her words, then amused by her. She was ordinary, that he could see, nothing in her looks was notable, she did not attempt to follow fashion, keeping her face fresh instead, not seeming to want to attract any attention, and she didn't, except his was raised.

He blamed the fact that she did not know how to handle her ever-growing body, that she would sit with her legs spread in class unlike the others, and let him view her modest cotton underwear. At first he thought it was intentional - for his gratification, and he had written her off as another simpering schoolgirl, except some of the staff murmured of it.

He hastened to tell her to cross her legs during class, causing her to gasp and widen her eyes disappearing soon off when the bell rang. It was then he realised he would like to see her react like that alone in his presence, though he brushed off the idea. He tried to distract himself with his work, though she was a part of it – her written words before him once or twice a week.

It annoyed him, so he made note to point her out in class hoping to scare her, though she was never afraid of him, always answering his questions dutifully.

It unnerved him.

She was slowly toppling him off his course. He didn't have interest in young girls, and he thought he'd broken off the concept when he caught sight of her in the tube. There she was, giving him a small smile, directing her attentions elsewhere out of pure decency, and then he found her eyes lingering on his book.

For weeks this continued, it was harmless, and unintentional – with her eyes trying to squint out the title of the book he'd read, and him finding that she'd sat herself up on the list in the library to have it next.

He ended up handing her the copy, nothing more - it meant nothing, but she returned the book with such speed he couldn't but wonder.

She continued eating up the books. He'd find her with them at school, staring, as he'd find her sat with her breath hitched in her slim throat at just the right passages.

He had lost…

In the end his imagination ran before him, conjuring up images, disturbing his nights with dreams, and he ended up having to realise them – "What  _have_  you been reading, Miss Hooper?"

She tasted sweet, like purity on his lips, and he knew there was no route back, for he would see her throw him lingering looks, as he persisted to avoid her glances.

Her looks were not innocent anymore, the very opposite of that, and he gave her the last book – almost hoping that she wouldn't be clever, that she wouldn't manage to get his puzzle, but he knew she would.

* * *

" _Shall we begin?"_

There they were, alone, with her sat in his lap, as she said, "Begin what?" in a small tentative voice, curiosity and desire lingering in her voice.

He removed his hand from underneath her skirt, taking his time to slowly dislodge himself raising a brow at her, while she only stilled in his lap, "Do remove yourself, Miss Hooper," he said conversationally, pleased by the fact that she looked startled, before jumping up hurriedly.

Her brown eyes swept over him, while he stood up quickly finding the chessboard, "Sorry –  _sir_  – but what-,"

"Don't call me sir," interrupting her, as he sat the chessboard on top of the coffee table, settling himself back in his chair, before gesturing towards the chair opposite him, "Chess – I  _do_  hope you're familiar with the concept?"

She stared, her mouth half-open in surprise, "Chess?" she said, and he almost felt like laughing at her expression of shock.

"What were you expecting?" he said with his hands steepled under his chin, putting on a mock-serious air, while she slowly sat down with her enflamed cheeks.

"Oh, right, sir," she said embarrassed, while he smiled at her lack of understanding.

* * *

She was perhaps not aware of the rules, unacquainted to how he played the game, as she tried to subdue her moans while her hair was fanned out on his bed. Her breasts were firm and soft, her nipples turning to pebbles at his brief touch, goose bumps crawling against her skin, as the delightful flush he'd seen crept lower on her body.

Everything he did was answered upon, how he'd kiss her below the ear - a soft whimper, every mild caress – a stifled gasp – it was uncharted territory. Even the soft warm centre of her was unfamiliar, as he kissed her cunt feeling her tremble underneath such a gesture.

He diverted his attention to the rest of her body, making her a moaning mess, only gracing her between her thighs, until he properly savoured her sweets. She was close to the brink when he withdrew, catching her hands into his, and letting her touch her own folds tenderly.

There was awkwardness in her touch, for she knew she was being observed, that he wasn't far from her watching in the low light of the room, ignoring his own urge to touch his cock that stirred at the sight of her, as her fingers slowly drove into her own warmth.

She did not seem uneasy now, with her half-open mouth eyes turning to him unabashedly, as she toppled over the edge on her own. He almost lost his footing at that, only daring to move for her clothes when she barely heaved for breath on his sheets.

In the end when she'd recovered he handed her the uniform, while she only regarded him in bemusement, until he carefully started to help her into the clothes. She argued wordlessly trying to kiss him, trying to press her naked body up against him, obviously wishing for him to touch her again, but he slapped her hands away, "Sir," she said her voice on the edge of begging.

"I - am – not -  _sir_ ," he said his eyes gleaming, while a look of defeat was on her face, and he was finally allowed to cover her.

He buttoned her up brushing against her breasts unintentionally, feeling his own ache at that, but he forced down his own inclinations.

In the end her eyes were bright with frustration, as he only said, "Until our next game."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Professor is a popular man apparently, and fun to write. Yes, there will be a multi-chapter in the future with their confusing relationship, and more smutty than any of this has been. Of course I've got other things to write, so I am sorry to say that "Seven" is closed for business - thank you for reviewing! Just thank you!


End file.
